


No stars to hold

by Kandi_lilies



Category: VIXX
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Wonshik is a sniper, assassin!Taekwoon, mention of bullet wounds and blood, somewhat at least
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-24 05:15:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20902226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kandi_lilies/pseuds/Kandi_lilies
Summary: Taekwoon learnt the hard way how one is better off not listening to their calls, how the only way to keep safe is by staying mute and blind to the crumbled darkness polled at the citizens' feet.  Yet midnight finds him watching over, mindlessly placing a cup of tea on the balcony railing for it to warm the frozen air of early March.





	No stars to hold

Certain nights like those get drowned without mercy by the sickly pale lights of the city. The moon’s silence tears apart feathers on which serenty was once painted for naked ugliness to now bloom at every corner in a city of uncertainties and blinded madness, a city which smiles from underneath the moon’s prying eyes so sweetly when the saint mask it wears shatters and the monstrosity humans have created takes over in any form; be it screams, cries of pain or the mourning of those fallen into its trap.

Taekwoon learnt the hard way how one is better off not listening to their calls, how the only way to keep safe is by staying mute and blind to the crumbled darkness polled at the citizens' feet. Yet midnight finds him watching over, mindlessly placing a cup of tea on the balcony railing for it to warm the frozen air of early March. There’s a light breeze dancing around the folds of his clothes, ruffling his black hair from its original neat appearance and it allows him to finally think. 'Think' - the simple realisation almost makes him laugh bitterly.

It's a privilege, that much is known by many: free will and thinking are for history books, owning a flat is close to impossible because of how few blocks haven't been affected in the early attacks and holding a job is for those with families in the inner circle. Even being outside can cause too many troubles for the count, only those who sink into the shadows of once functioning shops and the ruins of the old schools have enough courage to do it.

He's sitting at the top of a broken word watching as it destroys itself even further from the safety of a home so many have lost, a sheer luck which barely covers the truth about such seamless life.

Taekwoon exhales loudly, the hot air forming a typical white cloud as he discharges the black coat with enough care not to touch his right arm, he throws it carelessly on the white cushioned chair surrounded by few books he forgot to bring back in from far calmer nights where he found himself in similar predicaments like the one he's currently in. Poetry, can be called another rare treasure, but tonight he'd rather see them set aflame and burn. 

There are no stars he can hold close, no hopes he could cling to or at least a warm smile to frame in his mind on such a cold night. He only has the company of exhaustion, body still feeling the repercussions of what has happened few hours prior and even holding onto the metallic frame seems to pain him further. It stiffens his movements, making them slower, more calculated, almost inhuman in the way he drags his fingers along the cold railing before his arm falls back from its own numbness. 

Inhuman. People have decided to call his kind inhuman after they forgot that those of humankind became nightmares, that those in power are still calling themselves empathetic beings. Taekwoon now believes it to be a compliment, when they show disgust at the faceless assassin he is and they call him inhuman, only then does he feel a smile creeping on his lips. He still wishes to be inhuman, just as they labeled him.

But the pain is real, the living flesh his body consisted of is the reason he could feel alive, the reason wounds still attack his skin with millions of needles; his arm has no problem reminding him, nor does the blood drenching his black shirt or the forearm which bears a bullet as if it were a birthmark, or maybe a precious stone. Now that's the last thing he cares about. 

Alerted by a weight suddenly wrapping around his shoulders like a pair of fierce eyes which hold close his every move, one waiting for a sole moment of pure weakness, Taekwoon laughs with subtle bitterness rolling off his tongue. 

“I’m surprised you have yet to shoot me.” he rolls his head back, hair falling in his eyes to shade the patches of emotions threaded in his black irises. Back resting on the cold metal of the railing, he follows the darkness beyond the open glass doors, the still figure seemly a mere phantom whenever the see through curtains flutters slightly with the breeze. “Finish the job, one bullet wasn’t enough, now was it?” 

He breathes out a laugh at his own words, after all, no city is ever truly asleep and some try their luck blindly at such hours. 

His voice has become foreign to his own ears with the strange way it cuts the crisp air in two, leaving a trail of what one would only call madness and he takes a step closer, arms wide open to welcome the death as if he wishes to hug a close friend, one he didn’t get a chance to see in too long. Taekwoon’s face is spotless, a perfectly formed marble statue of no emotion, meant to be shown, meant to threaten those who dared to come close. He is too calm, not even words daring to climb up his throat as he takes another step closer, his healthy arm holding the door frame lazily.

For the first time, his own calmness comes in as a surprise, scaring him and he guesses this is what others feel when he is the one in the dark: a sudden rush of calmness, a numb acceptance of a wounded deer when the hungry wolves surround the poor creature-- a blind shot to the frame is all needed for Taekwoon’s facade to fall. 

Not even the lights of his living room are warm anymore, their yellowish tone sweeping on the dark wooden floor till it collides with the glow of the moon the moment he turns the switch on, body framed by the daisy coloured curtains and brows furrowed as to mimic the sudden confusion in his mind. Taekwoon is met with a familiar figure, black hair highlighted in the artificial gleam and a gun now thrown at his feet after having been discarded maybe a little too carelessly. 

“I didn’t come here for that.” he shakes his head, holding Taekwoon’s eyes with a dead stare - it's atypical, come to think of it- as he speaks again with a heavier tone. “This morning I shot you as a warming, don’t go out at any events for a few weeks and don’t take any missions. They’re still after you.”

Wonshik sighs heavily, hands covering his face in a futile attempt to disguise his distress and he falls backwards onto the red couch, body forcing the tension out of his shoulder blades enough for a content sigh to escape his lips. “They still want you buried 6 meters underground, why did you even take that mission when you knew it well enough that it was a trap?” it’s nothing short of a whisper, irony hissing among his words when he senses the tension rising in Taekwoon’s eyes, eyes which had been cold till then.

Of course Wonshik knew, he knows everything, Taekwoon’s lies always finding their way to light and he supposes it must be a job requirement with how few snipers are left untouched, the man who’s now sitting upright again being a living example. 

He isn’t expecting an answer from the older, never does when it comes to work related conversations and even so Taekwoon only has time to whisper his name before Wonshik suddenly moves; his legs are too heavy for the old flooring, echoing in Taekwoon’s ears as yet another reminder of what their lives have become and albeit all the training he has suffered through, looking into Wonshik’s eyes only gets harder. The latter takes him in his embrace, head nestling at the base of Taekwoon’s neck and hand sitting warmly curved around it while the other brings him closer by the middle.

It’s warm, so warm, needed, and enough to bring stray tears in Taekwoon's eyes at the vague memory of other times but such tears are pointless and he knows it, discarding them harshly before twisting the material of Wonshik's leather jacket tightly, or as tight as his wound allows him to. Taekwoon learnt the hard way how to survive, yet he seeks for comfort, for a lone hope that they would find a way to get out and leave such a vile city.

"I'm sorry for that by the way." Taekwoon doesn't respond, he rests his face in Wonshik's hair; it smells of gunpowder and smoke, no tints left of the musky shampoo he used the night before. "Let me get it cleaned up for you. Can't have you die on me from an untreated wound." 

Wonshik forces them apart briefly, breaths mingling from the close proximity and his eyes crinkle slightly, breaking his features into a sad smile. He's trying to joke around, somewhat elevate the crumbled atmosphere they are so close to suffocating in before they both break down, always doing so before it's too much for either of them to bear. 

Of course he knows, he always does. 

But Taekwoon may know something on his own also, such mission could only be given to the best of snipers and he's the one and only given target. 

“If you won’t find the courage, someone else will.” his words ring of a truth which fuels the latter’s hatred for caring a name so needed in their filled-- a job is a job, and that's how it always has been for Taekwoon yet now he's wanted death, he realises that much. 

Wonshik only closes his eyes, nodding his head; he expected Taekwoon to read through his lie the same way he always does to him and he frowns slightly as he backs further to search for his lover’s tired gaze again.“Stop saying that." it's soft, no more than a peck of lips that stops Taekwoon from speaking further. "Please.” and he complies.

It's a matter of time, it always has been, and maybe Taekwoon cannot trick death itself, but he'll stay alive long enough to see the other get away from all of this unscathed.

**Author's Note:**

> Got till the end? Then thank you for giving it a chance! 
> 
> This is actually an older piece which I only got around to edit now and well,hopefully I'll be able to expand it soon. I know it's quite small, but was originally written for a contest and I never really edited it, reason why i never even posted it till now ^^;;
> 
> Hope it was an enjoyable read and thank you again for reading!
> 
> You can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/Kandi_lilies)


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